


Gay Weaklings

by Threnna



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-18
Updated: 2014-01-01
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:02:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1088835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Threnna/pseuds/Threnna
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred F. Jones, a football player, a handsome blond, popular, is -to his great distress- sexually legal and a virgin. Luckily, one of his upper classmen has the sollution. But things advance too fast, spiral out of control and soon Alfred can't tell up from down.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“ _Everybody loves me_!” A shower of laughter washed through the room as Alfred F. Jones, a blonde, football player, a four-eyes, and the heartthrob of most girls in school, stood like a champion on the living room table roaring along with the song blaring from the large speakers. With a big bottle in one hand and pumping a fist with the other, he did a victory turn on the table, nodding his head and spurring on a new volley of applause and noise as the party officially hit its peak. The lighting was dim, the music blasting loud and the air stuffed, thick with sweat, the tinge of alcohol and hormonal students ready to lose their conscience to a wicked Friday night.

He jumped down, receiving several encouraging pats on the back for his little show. A girl hooked her fingers into the collar of his t-shirt and he let her drag him in close for a dance. He entertained her for the duration of two songs, then headed on outside which had been his original destination. Alfred had no idea whose house he was in, having been whisked there hours ago by his friends, drawn by the rumour of a sick party. It didn’t matter much either, and he reckoned more than half of the people there were the exact same as him.

Out in the garden fresh air was a welcome change from the heavy indoors, even though here cigarette smoke and the distinct smell of weed was thick around him instead. Eyes roaming the scene he quickly spotted a familiar group laughing and chatting away. With a grin he headed for them.

Just as he got within earshot, he heard a blond, tall guy – a third year he knew quite well – say,

“Do you know The Gecko?” with a glint in his eye.

“Enlighten us,” a smaller boy with patina blond hair said next to him, completely uninterested and rolling his eyes; indicating he had heard this before. With a small snicker, Alfred joined them.

“You know when you got a girl, right, and you’re fucking her from behind against a wall,” the third year took a pause for dramatic effect, the boys nodding appreciatively and the few girls in their midst either scoffing or giggling. Alfred on the other hand felt a sudden uncomfortable, and just like that it took all his focus to keep his smile. “ _The Gecko_ is when you pull your dick out, ram it up her ass and see how far up the wall she climbs. Just like a gecko.” Laughter and a longer bragging of who had and who hadn’t tried this out, accompanied by teasing of the present girls, ensued. Alfred partook in the lively ongoings, but had taken a subconscious half-step back. One of the girls squeaked, her neat brown hair flourishing around her head as she jumped when one of the boys slapped her butt playfully. She immediately retaliated verbally, the rest watching on amused. An arm slid around Alfred’s shoulder, a mouth suddenly close to his ear, the grin distinct even though he could not see it.

“So, how’s the virginity goin’?”

Alfred froze, his chest seizing up minutely before he recognised the voice and shook the intruder off to spin and face him with an angered – _flustered_ – “ _Shh_!”. Alfred’s eyes glanced around nervously, looking for anyone showing signs to have heard, a brief rush of relief loosening his rigid back when he found none. That however, didn’t mean the albino now in front of him was in the clear.

“Chill, dude,” the guy grinned, only sniggering loudly at Alfred’s glare. “Everyone here knows you’re a clean lilly.”

“What do you mean _everyone_?” Alfred whispered, feeling a clammy chill grab at him. He must have visibly paled, or maybe it was the numb lack of force in his voice -- either way the albino laughed again.

“Loosen up, Alfie,” he patted Alfred hard on the back and began navigating through the crowd, _Alfie_ (he grumbled at the nickname but said nothing) tailing after him to a table with a big bucket of punch. Not a bowl, a _bucket._ “No one knows, though I honestly doubt your popularity would die out, no matter what I tell people. Don’t you worry, little heart-breaker.” He winked; his tone was teasing, though he knew fully well a whole boatload of girls would go suicidal if they knew about Alfred’s little secret… well, that other secret besides this one.

“I’m _really_ flattered Gill, but what do you want?” the albino had seemed perfectly content with his friends in another part of the house last time Alfred spotted him; the guy, _Gill_ , wouldn’t have temporarily abandoned them and sought him out in the chaos for nothing.

“Just checking on my junior, awesome as I am,” Gill took a sip of his newly acquired drink and Alfred shook his head slightly. He snorted a laugh despite himself, though the geniunitiy of his smile faded quickly enough.

Regardless of what people might say about third year’s Gilbert Beilschmidt’s boisterous behaviour, the subtle change was not lost on him. Putting down his cup on the table, he turned fully to Alfred, his face suddenly serious.

“Do you know Arthur Kirkland?”

Alfred’s eyebrows joined his hair roots. That was a question out of the blue if ever he saw one, not to mention completely unnecessary.

“If I _know_ him?” Alfred rolled his eyes. “He’s only the school president." _And the biggest pervert with the smartest mouth this side of the Atlantic._ The president’s rumour was a widespread one and how any of the teachers ever okayed him being the school’s president was a mystery. After all; the guy read _pornographic magazines_ openly in class (Alfred had even witnessed this first hand once when he passed their classroom). Maybe it had something to do with how he wore the school uniform correctly and to the T. Or maybe his British accent lulled the teachers into a false sense of security. The world worked in mysterious ways.

Gilbert nodded, waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, well, I have it on good authority he doesn’t mind one-nightstands, and doing guys as well as girls.”

And there was that other secret of his that would cause the heartbreak of many a maiden right there:

“He’s _gay_?” Alfred was surprised and not, at the same time. The infamous president’s many magazines only held big-breasted women (as far as the rumours went anyway), but then again, the guy _was_ British.

“Nah, but he doesn’t mind doing them just for the fuck’s sake. He’s pretty lax that way,” Gilbert said with a shrug. He looked at Alfred expectantly. “Wanna go for it?” Alfred’s mouth gaped open and closed, trying to grab at words but finding absolutely nothing to say. Gilbert grinned. “C’mon, what’ve you got to lose?”

Alfred opened his mouth again, but slammed it shut before he could make a sound. He had been about to say “ _my virginity_ ”, but that would be more than a little stupidly hypocritical. He stayed quiet, Gilbert waiting with that same lewd grin. _Then how about_ “ _my virginity to a freaking perv?”_ Alfred’s thoughts supplemented. Hm, well, okay, maybe not. He was slowly starting to regret the slip of his tongue a late, drunk Saturday night when he confessed to Gilbert that he was indeed gay, a virgin and goddamn tired of it. The albino had been the first and only person Alfred had confided in about this ever, and why it had been that loud, crazy German he had opened up to in the end only alcohol could explain.

When Alfred still didn’t say anything, Gilbert spoke instead.

“Don’t worry, I’ll check it out for you,” he said with what was probably supposed to be a reassuring face, but looked more like he was choking on a laugh. “Francis has known him since they were both in diapers, it’ll be easy enough.” Alfred stared at him, and for only a moment that mischievous façade the senior always kept up, slipped. “It’ll be alright,” he said, then gave Alfred a solid slap on the back. “Soon, you can wave your virginity good bye for good,” he winked. “It must really suck to be legal and have no-one to pop you, after all,” he grimaced, saluted, and with that look off. Back to Antonio and Francis, no doubt, the senior’s two closest friends. Francis. A sweaty chill ran down Alfred’s back. He emptied his bottle in one big gulp, a groan on his lips, his thoughts churning nonstop, and a grumbling feeling of regret in his gut.

* * *

 

“Alfred!”

Monday mid-day, lunch had just ended, and reluctant students were scurrying to get to class – not too soon, but quickly enough not to risk the teacher’s wrath for being late. The day’s main – and only – conversational subject throughout the school had been Friday’s activities and the damage that apparently had been done to the house. True to student nature, this only branded the night “ _Epic_ ”, though the parents coming home Sunday afternoon apparently hadn’t been of the same opinion. To say they were less than thrilled was an understatement.

“ _Alfred!”_

After Gilbert had left him, Alfred had returned to his friends outside, dancing and drinking the night away. The suffocating hangover he woke up to Sunday afternoon had even allowed him to forget his conversation with Gill for a while, the memory only coming back when he was going to bed. Monday morning he had resolutely locked the whole matter in a thought-tight cage, thrown the key and busied himself with discussing the Friday night when he got to school, enthusiastically comparing hangover pains with other students. The grapevine had soon informed him the house had belonged to a sophomore, though the student’s supposed identity kept changing.

Alfred was in the middle of a spirited conversation about the extent of the damages when he heard his name through the noise of students on break. Motioning for his friends to continue on, he turned around in the packed hallway. Teens with maths books, English literature, history, religion, physiology, and a series of other books most students weren’t sure what actually were for, crowding on from all sides, but none who could have been calli-

Wait, rewind. There.

“Alfred!”

From between two giggling girls, a white haired head popped out. The two girls squealed with surprise, Gilbert flashing them a grinning “ _Entschuldigung”,_ before tackling Alfred’s neck.

“He said yes.”

Alfred quirked an eyebrow and began walking again, Gilbert in tow and still bodily attached. “Who? To what?”

Gilbert rolled his eyes. “Arthur. The school president. Remember? It’s only been two days,” he shook his head, snickering at Alfred’s expense. He couldn’t decide if his face was losing or gaining colour, feeling hot and cold at the same time -- not so much because he had actually forgotten for a second ( _hah!_ As if he could have, despite his heroic efforts this morning), but the thought of actually going through with it… Alfred suddenly felt silly. He was thinking far too hard on this. Gilbert had been drunk when he came up with the idea, surely he wasn’t actually serious. …Right? Anytime now Gilbert would cackle like he always did and say it was all a joke an-

“I was up in the principal’s office for a reprimand and Arthur was there, so I asked.”

Alfred was unpleasantly ripped from his train of thought, wide eyed with abrupt horror. “With the principal in the room?”

Gilbert laughed. “Yeah, and he said he wouldn’t mind joining in too, wouldn’t that be awesome?” Alfred firmly believed his and Gilbert’s definition of awesome was widely different. Normally he would have brushed the joke off with a fitting gesture, but at the moment he was too busy stressing out. “But nah,” Gilbert continued unperturbed, “I asked him in the hallway afterwards.” He patted Alfred’s back as the blond let out a small breath.

“Here’s his number,” Gilbert produced a yellow post-it note he pushed into Alfred’s hand, Alfred realising with increasing dread the albino was actually frickin’ serious. “He said to give a call whenever you got time. But I gotta run, promised Antonio to help him with some stuff before second period starts, so see ya later. And good luck.” With a last pat Gill took off, flipping a girl’s skirt in the process, his laughter resounding through the hallway and blending with the noise of students as the girl screamed profanities after him.

Alfred looked down at the note. At some point during their little talk he had stopped walking again, not noticing when, students pressing past him without offering him a second glance. The numbers had clearly been jotted down in a hurry and were a tad difficult to interpret. Gilbert’s writing, no doubt. A split second Alfred imagined himself calling the wrong number and how hilariously embarrassing that would be. Then his mood fell again as he stared at the writing. To give him a call whenever he had the time, was it? Alfred rubbed his forehead sporadically, giving a single breathed chuckle with nearly desperate humour, clutching the piece of paper. This situation was so _absurd_.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I have begun editing and cleaning up this story. It seriously needed it… xD 
> 
> On that note, I feel the need to add this (please read to the end, it’s important):
> 
> I do not support sexual activity before people are 16 and legal. I think the world’s focus on sex and how it is affecting our younger generation is disturbing. If you’re a virgin at 16 or 18 or 22, I personally think that’s a good thing. It’s not all it’s cracked up to be, fiction is fiction for a reason, and you should not pursue it just because you feel like you have to or that you are missing out. Wait until you are ready, and if you don’t feel ready until you’re 25 or 30, then that’s perfectly okay. It’s your body and the people who brag have usually made up half their stories. Wait until you feel ready and have a person you trust. Believe me, giving your virginity to some random dude because you think you need to because of some stupid social thing sucks. Just trust me on that one. So be safe, have fun, don’t let people push you into anything you don’t want, and use protection! :) Okay, rant over. 
> 
> (Aaaand if you need someone to talk to, you can always message me. :) Seriously, anytime)


	2. Chapter 2

Three days. Alfred stared at the screen of his iPhone and the glaring numbers of his calendar as he swapped through different applications, not listening at all to the teacher’s speech about algebra and what-not. Three days since Gilbert gave him that fated yellow post-it note.

Alfred sighed heavily, looking up at the black board. In the few moments he had been looking at his iPhone, the board had been filled with chalk scribbles, numbers and unintelligible signs, and what was supposed to be their maths assignment for the week. Summarised, it all said: _greek, greek, greek_ and _greek._

He did his best to suppress another deep groan, dropping his gaze back to the phone to play Angry Birds. He _could_ just drop it. It was not like his fate was sealed just because he had the president’s number, surely loads of people had it. Yes, that was it. He could just drop it, throw the note away and never think about it again. If Gilbert asked, he could just say he had found someone else or some other bullshit like that.

His chest felt immediately lighter as he decided this. Yes, there was no need to go around feeling nervous about something he didn’t actually have to do. He nodded to himself, smiling, despite how he had miscalculated and completely missed the little tower on his screen.

However, that also meant resigning to falling silent when others talked about their experiences in _that_ particular field. Sure, he could laugh at a crude sex joke, he knew how to smile, wink and subtly flex his muscles to make a girl go weak at the knees and how to entertain her in a suggestive fashion (he only nearly didn’t feel ashamed about that either –what? It was easy). But any farther than that and he was in complete unknown territory, not to mention he would never actually _do it_ with a girl anyway.

 _“imagine what the girls in your class would say if they knew you weren’t actually sexually attracted to them_ ,” had been Gilbert’s amused reply after he had found out. Alfred smiled grimly. Even if no one ever got to know he was gay, just imagine what they would think of him if it got out he was very much a virgin: He was the guy who made glasses look hot, he was the one who always got invited to parties, and whom everyone seemed to want to socialise with. And that wasn’t even bragging. And of course it was sort of expected of someone like him be experienced. Stupid idiotic stereotypes. Oh how he wanted to strangle them.

He felt silly for it, but he wanted so bad to be able to partake in those discussions and actually know what he was talking about (his fellow students rarely seemed to talk about much else for more than five minutes at a time). Yes it was shallow and stupid and stupid and _stupid_ but he couldn’t help it. He was frustrated and embarrassed. He hated the feeling of uncertainty that always crept up on him when someone broached the subject, everyone chipping in with their stories, looking expectantly to him. Obviously he oblige them every time with fabricated lies, though he was always worried he would get a detail wrong and get called out on it. Alfred stared blankly into the air, the heavy feeling returning.

Slowly reaching into his pocket he looked at the crumpled piece of paper. It would be nice to join the ranks of those who ‘had done it’. He gazed at the numbers. But what if the president started asking questions? He frowned, punching the numbers into his phone, then selecting _save_. What if the president felt like telling everyone afterwards? Alfred didn’t feel like having the entire school –or anyone, for that matter- know of his sexual preferences. Gilbert was the only one in the know and even that was one person too many for his liking. …Maybe the president had some sort of confidentiality-policy-thing?

He opened a new message. Getting rid of his virginity once and for all would solve some of his problems. He didn’t need to talk to the president again after that. He only needed to do it once, to have some validity to add to his lies.

_What’s up? This is Alfred F. Jones._

Yes, play it cool and safe. Just his name first, just to make sure he had the right number. No need to make this more awkward than necessary by saying the wrong thing to the wrong person. Not to mention the tiny (or not so tiny) chance Gilbert was playing a really mean practical joke on him. Half his mind kind of hoped so; the other half was annoyed at the first half. Gah, this was confusing.

There, he had done it. He had contacted the student preside-

Shit.

He had done it. Shit, shit, _shit_. Alfred squeezed the phone with both hands, eyes widening. His body went cold. He had actually sent it. Now what? He got the sudden urge to run away somewhere. Too bad the teacher was between him and the door.

“Alright, breathe. This is all going to work out just fine. You can still get out of it. Just say you sent the message to the wrong person. It’s fine. You’ll do just fine,” Alfred mumbled to himself, nodding several times and pulling in too deep breathes. Yes, that was it. He was cool. He was handsome and popular, girls liked him. He was the quarter back of his football team. What was he doing, getting so freaked out over sending one little message? It wasn’t like he had written anything stupid or bad in i-

The phone vibrated. Alfred nearly dropped it.

_Are you not supposed to be in class?_

Any cold sweat, nervous trembling or anything else his body may have just been doing stopped instantly. Alfred lifted his brows, staring at the screen perplexed. Before he could give it much thought, he had replied.

 _I am. Aren’t_ you _supposed to be in class?_

Five seconds. The phone vibrated again.

_If you are, then pay attention to the teacher._

_I’m the student president._

He was the student president? What kind of excuse was that? Alfred frowned, eyebrows still lifted high, getting ready to write a reply when his phone vibrated in his hands again.

_When do you have time off?_

Alfred looked puzzled at the message.

_What do you mean?_

He waited. Five seconds. This student president guy sure was quick. Didn’t he have anything better to be doing right now?

_You are the boy Gilbert was talking about, are you not?_

Oh, right. In the surprise Alfred had managed to completely forget about that. He swallowed a lump materializing from nowhere and tried to ignore his palms as they got clammy.

Was all he replied.

_Then when do you have some time off? I have a busy schedule, but it is reasonably flexible, so just name a day and we’ll take it from there._

Alfred’s mouth was dry. He stared at the phone, completely failing to notice the several heads turning in his direction and the teacher staring at him with that cool, patient-impatience only teachers can pull off.

“Do you have the answer on your mobile phone, Jones?”

The teacher sounded not the least bit amused. The mention of his name jerked Alfred out of his thoughts and he looked up, completely bewildered.

“I don’t know,” he said, his tongue feeling uncomfortable in his dry mouth. “Sir,” he added, deciding that was a smart move. The teacher sighed and clicked his tongue disapprovingly.

“Then it should not be a problem if I look after it for the rest of the lesson.”

Alfred nodded dumbly and just watched the teacher confiscate his phone and put it in the drawer of his desk, seamlessly returning to his preaching of… eh… _whatever_ it was he had been trying to teach them the past few weeks. Alfred tried to pay attention, he honestly did -anything to get his mind off of things. Needless to say though, it didn’t work very well. One of the girls a few rows in front turned around and mouthed “ _are you okay?”_. That certainly didn’t make him feel any better.

By the end of the lesson his heart was at the bottom of his feet and he couldn’t decide what to do. What he pointedly avoided though, was look at his phone when he got it back. He stuffed it in his pocket and didn’t take it out until he was at home (he had even nearly forgotten to wait for Matthew, his brother, before getting on the bus) and gone to bed. He pulled in a deep breath and crept under the covers before he held the phone up in front of his face.

One message.

_How about this Friday at nine?_

This Friday. Alfred’s brain was blank for a split second. Today was Monday. Four days. His heart began to race.

He clicked send before his mind could catch up with his actions and stop him. He breathed out slowly, laying the phone on the nightstand. He had only just turned over on the side to try falling asleep when his phone vibrated on the wooden surface again. He nearly levitated off the mattress as he flipped back around, grabbing the phone again.

_Good. My place or yours?_

His heart hammered away.

He could hear the steps of his mother on the other side of the door as he punched send.

_Alright._

And that was that. The student president didn’t send any more texts. Neither did Alfred. He held onto the phone for a while, simply staring out into the air, his chest all but pulsating with the thumps of his heart.

An unknown amount of time later he put the phone down again and turned over to sleep.

* * *

 

“Good morning, Alfred-kun. …Are you feeling okay?”

Alfred yawned, widely and loudly and waved a hand at the Asian Senior eyeing him with soft worry. Maybe it had something to do with the annoyingly dark bags he had had under his eyes when he looked himself in the mirror that morning. Or it could be something else; Asian’s seemed to have this slightly different view of the world, like some seventh – that’s right, not sixth, but _seventh_ – sense. Alfred suppressed another yawn.

“Mornin’ Kiku. Yea, I’m fine.” He ruffled a hand through his hair in a vain attempt at looking more refreshed. “Just homework.”

The senior, who had been one of Alfred’s best friends ever since he first walked into the computer lab on the second day of school, hesitantly accepted the excuse. He reached into his bag and pulled out a few rectangular plastic cases. “Here, the games I told you about,” he said, handing them to Alfred. Alfred’s eyes lit up. This was quite the usual routine for the two boys, Kiku having a seemingly endless selection of games Alfred had never tried before. He inspected the covers and grinning widely he could feel his fingers itching. Asian’s certainly had both a seventh and eight sense – at least when it came to games if nothing else. If this couldn’t get his mind off of things, he didn’t know what could.

And so that was how he got through the week, by trying not to think about _it_. He played computer games for as much time as homework and dinner would allowed him, as per normal. He even obliged Matthew in a few card games now and then. But at night, when he was safe beneath the covers in the darkness of his own bedroom, nothing available to avert his attention, his mind wandered. What was it like, exactly? …How much would it hurt?

Four days seemed like forever and to pass in the blink of an eye all at the same time. When Thursday rolled around, Alfred’s stomach had still not decided whether it should be bubbling with excitement or turning with nausea. He hadn’t told anyone, not even his twin brother. Only Gilbert knew and had apparently taken it upon himself to track Alfred’s progress, regularly checking up on him the past few days. Alfred did his best to play it cool and grin each time. But now the final lesson for the day was drawing to an end, and as Alfred opened his school planner to jot down the teacher’s assignments, an odd form of nervousness had manifested in his body.

Paging through the calendar until he reached the date for the next day he raised his pen. Above the few lines designated for each day of the year, a few names were always listed. Alfred idly read them while jotting down the instructions. _Arthur_.

His pen made a long line across the thin page, crossing into Sunday and Saturday territory. Oh what irony that Arthur’s name day was tomorrow. That wasn’t even funny.

 


	3. Chapter 3

He had been a nervous wreck the entire day. He desperately hoped he hadn't _looked_ like it, though couldn’t be sure. Thing was, it wasn't even that ordinary type of nervousness. If nervousness gave cold sweats and an icy-ish feeling in the stomach, then this was more like a temperature-less, numb sensation of everything being slightly unreal. It didn’t help that he was bouncing between this and electric excitement at uneven intervals, like a mood-ring on steroids.

When it came down to it, he just couldn't picture himself on the infamous school president's bed losing his virginity. It was strange. Strange strange strange. Just too strange to be real.

He spent the day parodying what he believed – hoped – was his usual behaviour, and he must have been doing a decent job of it, for no one seemed to notice anything was up. Alfred humoured himself with the idea of pursuing acting and becoming world famous with his amazing skills of pretend. Only one person appeared not to be fooled, looking his way now and then with a soft frown and that was his brother, Matthew. A boy who would have been the spitting image of Alfred, had it not been for the way he kept his hair and their polar opposite personalities.

Wait, no, make that two people: At half-time, _lunch_ , Kiku added to Matthew’s glances from across the cafeteria, but did not otherwise approach him.

 _Great_ , Alfred picked at his food, a conversation about football going on over his head. Kiku clearly hadn’t let it go. Alfred was so lucky to be cursed with both a persistent Asian for a friend as well as a twin. He frowned at what was supposed to be mashed potatoes. As far as he was concerned, he had been really successful at near-forgetting everything at home. At least their parents didn’t seem to have noticed anything. Sometimes he was convinced Matthew had been born with some weird psychic power.

The day dragging on, Alfred avoided lengthy talks with Matthew (which would have centred around proving nothing was wrong, ultimately confirming the exact opposite). At least his brother didn’t seem keen on pushing the matter while in school. Thank God for tiny miracles.

As one of Alfred’s team mates described “ _this wicked move_ ” he had executed on his skateboard, Alfred silently tracked the clock on the wall. He could feel his pulse picking up ever so slightly, the little hand counting away the seconds faster than usual. It was funny though, he didn't feel the least bit tired, despite barely getting any sleep. Maybe not so funny after all, when he thought about it.

* * *

 

_The digital numbers glared an obnoxious zero-six-colon-zero-zero when he drowsily lifted the blinking mobile phone to his face. One split second, before his brain had gotten its gears turning properly, he cursed himself for setting the alarm one hour early by mistake. The next, he was up on his feet, almost falling flat on his face as his left foot was caught in the covers, and sprinted to the bathroom._

_He rubbed and polished his body with practically all and any soaps he found –all the soaps that didn't smell like roses, of course. He might swing that way, but he sure as flipp didn't have to go around smelling like it. Especially not when he was meeting the school president, whom he had heard possessed an overly sarcastic tendencies._

_After exiting the shower, he shaved his face. Halfway through he stopped, briefly wondering if maybe the president liked stubble. Then he reminded himself the guy was straight and just fucked guys for the fuck's sake – as Gilbert so politely had put it – and shaved the rest of his face. He put some aftershave lotion on his skin before hesitantly turning to his junk. After a little while, he had to lift his leg and lean his foot against the sink, standing in an altogether awkward pose, to reach certain areas._

_That's when the door handle was pushed down. And that was also when Alfred thought he would die. Seconds later, he thanked his lucky star for having locked the door – and for not having accidentally cut his balls off._

_"Matthew? Is that you?" the half-awake voice of his mother called from the other side of the door._

_"Uh, no, it’s me," Alfred replied, busy trying to calm his heart so he could get back to his previous occupation._

_"Alfred? What are you doing up so early?" she sounded confused and he really couldn’t blame her. Alfred rarely woke up any earlier than twenty minutes before he had to leave. Sometimes ten when he felt lazy._

_"Just getting an early start, Ma," Alfred replied quickly. A few moments passed and then he could hear her steps vanishing down the hall to the stairs, probably heading for the kitchen._

_Twenty-five minutes later Alfred had done everything he could think of. He had showered, every part he deigned suitable shaven and soft, he had applied his deodorant, brushed and styled his hair, spent twice as long as normal getting dressed and even polished his glasses. That last thing he would have to do over again, of course, but it had felt like a nice finish when he was preparing so carefully anyway._

_He then ran downstairs, ate, packed his bag and returned to the bathroom. He had showed a couple of condoms from his secret stash into the bottom of his bag. Just in case. Well, now that he thought about it, he wasn't really sure if he would need them. It wasn’t like guys could get pregnant anyway. But he supposed it was good to have them just for the sake of having them. After a moment of considering how this sex business was actually going to go down, he decided it was definitely good to have them, for sanitary reasons if anything._

_With still ten minutes to spare, Alfred was still there, stood hesitantly on the cool bathroom tiles. He had cut his nails and applied some cream to his hands as well, as an afterthought. He leaned across the sink and inspected himself closely in the mirror. Was there anything else he could improve? He pulled a little at his eyes, his chin and then his lips. His cheeks were as soft as they could get from the shave, so that was alright. He wondered, should he use some lip balm, maybe?_

_Seconds later, Alfred laughed, leaned away from the glass surface, called for Matthew and left for the bus. Talk about over-exaggerating._

* * *

 

The teacher smacked his book closed. "Alright, that's all for today. I expect to have your assignments sent to me by Wednesday. Have a nice weekend."

Cheers resonated through the room. After five days, it was weekend again at long last, eager chatter of who was going where and doing what erupting from every students’ mouth at the same time. Nothing short of an explosion of sound, the teacher’s disapproving stare was lost on most of them and ignored by the rest.

Alfred would have normally been adding to it, but at that moment he was too busy getting lost in his own internal world, slowly packing his bag, to pay attention.

"Alfred."

He snapped his head up. Next to his desk, bag in hand, stood his twin brother. Alfred made a great show of slouching back in his chair a little and grinned lopsidedly, as he often did.

"Yo Matthew, what's up?"

"I am going home, are you coming?" said Matthew.

"Nah," Alfred returned to stuffing laptop and books into his bag again. "I'm staying over at a friend's place." He could feel his stomach tie a knot on itself at the word _friend_ , but played it cool. He usually stayed over at people’s houses anyway. Matthew nodded.

"Okay," was all he said. Alfred glanced up again.

"Tell mom, would ya?"

"Sure. Have fun," Matthew smiled, not looking the least bit convinced, but left Alfred be anyway. Exchanging a few words with a couple other people in the class, he soon left. The rest trickled out after him, in varying groups and Alfred's friends pouted playfully at their comrade not being free for a Friday's drink.

Alfred sat in the classroom for a few more minutes by himself when they had all gone. In fact, he didn't move until a teacher poked his head in the door, looking surprised at seeing a student still there. Alfred got up, flashed a smile and hightailed it out of there before the teacher could ask any questions. _Questions_ being one (or twenty) of those bothersome ones that all teachers seemed obliged to, almost obsessed with asking at the smallest sign of abnormality. The "are you alright?"s, "is everything alright at home?"s, "are you doing okay in school?"s, and of course the "is someone bothering you?". Alfred didn't know a single student who willingly answered those questions to a random teacher, unless they were strapped down and cornered with no escape or hope for rescue.

By the time he exited the gate it was a quarter to four. He had checked his watch five times while walking through the big main gate, so there was no doubt. This meant only five hours to go until nine o'clock. Strictly speaking, he could actually have gone with his friends. Idly fiddling with the lock of the open gate, he got a little angry with himself for saying no when they asked. It would be a little early to start the heavy drinking – or drinking at all – at four, but they could have gone grabbed a bite(pizza sounded awesome) and then gone round to someone’s house for a beer around six or something before continuing from there. To drown his nervousness in alcohol was a very inviting thought. But, he told himself, he really should have all his brain cells intact for this, lest he do something more embarrassing than what he was already about to do.

So, letting go of the gate, Alfred first decided to make sure he knew where the school president lived. He had heard the guy rented an apartment ten minutes or so from school. Apparently, his parents were well off, but lived a long drive from here and had invested in an apartment for their son. Alfred walked around for a little while before he found it; a nice-looking complex with a tell-tale ‘Arthur Kirkland’ tag on one of ten doorbells assuring him this was the right place.

Alfred decided to find a place to sit and waste the remaining time on his computer and eate dinner. He knew a guy who worked at the nearby pizza express and they usually let him sit there for several hours without any weird looks.

On the way there, he dropped by a grocery store and bought lip balm.

* * *

 

Holy fuck, his nervousness had developed into true, full-fledge nausea. He was tingling all the way down to his toes, feeling downright dizzy and had to seriously pull himself together not to lean weakly against the wall as he looked at the small, white doorbell.

Alright, he was here, no turning back now. This was what he wanted, after all. So, deep breath in, long breath out. _One, two, push._

There was a buzzing sound from the speaker above the doorbells. Surely, nothing more than five seconds passed and then there was a small click and a voice following it.

" _Yes?_ "

Alfred wrangled his dry voice box into action.

"Hi, it's Alfred." Then he quickly added, "Jones."

" _Ah, right. Come right up, it's on the third floor."_

Another click followed, the president hanging up, and the speaker went dead. Then the door buzzed softly and Alfred grabbed it, swinging it open and slipped into the cool stairwell. He climbed up to the first floor in an okay tempo, one door meeting him at either side of the little platform. He continued up to the second floor, still at a reasonable pace. From second to third he was gradually slowing down, trying not to, a chilling sensation spreading from his spine to the rest of his body and his feet felt decidedly a lot heavier.

He looked up. There, in the doorway, leaning against the frame with crossed arms, watching him, stood the school president.

Alfred stopped, six steps from the third floor platform and didn't notice that he did. His eyes were locked onto the president standing above him. The guy was still dressed in his school uniform, despite being at home. He looked so calm as he gazed back down at Alfred with glittering green eyes it wasn’t fair – as his brain so childishly supplemented.

Then the president pushed away from the doorframe and returned inside the apartment. Though Alfred was sure – or at least, almost sure – that he had spotted the slightest of smirks on his face just as he had turned away.

"Are you going to come inside or keep standing there?"

Alfred jerked, realised he was indeed standing still and hurried up the remaining few steps. Entering the apartment he closed the door carefully behind him.

The place was incredibly tidy. Stylish, but in a classy way, a pallet of light earth colours, and all in all, was just really nice. The school president's parents obviously valued good interior. Alfred curiously poked his head into the sitting room. It was one of those open-plan solutions; kitchen to the left and sitting room to the right, an island counter efficiently dividing the space and a window stretching nearly the entire width of the wall opposite him. The space was neat and tidy, all white appliances, alphabetically ordered books and healthy plants in the window sill.

"Can I offer you anything?"

Alfred jumped – though just very, very slightly of course –, looking back to the school president. He was loosening his tie with one hand, shifting through a few papers on the coffee table with the other.

"Were you working?" Alfred asked, quickly nodding to the papers and the president's uniform in general when the guy glanced at him.

"I came back from school an hour ago. While I waited for you, I got ahead on next week's assignments," the president shrugged, casually abandoning his tie across the back of the couch.

"I didn't think there was so much to do in the student council," Alfred admitted, honestly surprised. A small smile flickered across the other's face.

"There normally isn't. But, this is the beginning of the year and there is always a lot to plan then. Besides, I prefer to do most of the work myself."

Alfred frowned with lifted brows, but before he could ask anything more the student president left the papers and looked directly at him.

"Are you hungry? Is there anything I can get you?"

Caught in a kind of blank perplexity, Alfred just shook his head. "No," he finally said. "I'm good."

"Will you be staying over or going home?" the student president asked and he said it so absurdly matter-of-factly it nearly annoyed Alfred. Then he realised, this really was to nothing new for the president. Alfred’s stomach squirmed.

He was about to answer "Home" by pure reflex, but then stopped himself. As the genius he was he had told Matthew he wouldn't come home tonight. He had just automatically thought he would be sleeping over at the president's place without even _considering_ the fact that he could actually just go home afterwards. He wanted to kick himself. After all, it wasn't like what they were doing was going to take all night. …Right?

He was really temped to say home now, but then what was he gonna do? Wander the streets until morning? Yeaaa no. He supposed he could crash at someone else’s place, just making up a story for the parent’s why he was coming over I the middle of the nig-

"So you are staying here?" The school president pulled him out of his train of thoughts.

"Uh, well, I thought," he mumbled stupidly.

"It’s fine by me," the president cut him short and shrugged. "But I will be leaving early tomorrow, so you will have to lock yourself out."

"Oh. _Oh,_ that's- that's okay. I don't mind."

"Alright, but tomorrow is far away, so are you sure you would not like something to eat first?" The school president still looked so insanely _calm_. Alfred did his best to ignore it, trying his equal best to process the question. He supposed that since the guy was getting up early tomorrow, he would prefer not to get out of bed to eat after they were done. Alfred would hate to wake him up in the middle of the night because he was hungry. Hesitantly, he concluded that he really should get something to eat.

"An apple," he finally mumbled, before he added a hastened, "please." The school president nodded and selected a nice, big red apple from a bowl on the island. Washing it he handed it to Alfred.

"Are you not gonna eat anything?" Alfred asked.

"No, I just ate."

They were completely silent the entire time while Alfred ate. Neither of them sat, the school president leaning against the kitchen counter and Alfred standing in the middle of the room holding the apple with both hands, feeling distinctly out of place. Only the sounds of his teeth cutting through the fruit and chewing breaching the air between them.

It felt like the longest minutes that he had ever spent eating an apple.

When he finally threw the stalk in the bin – he had eaten the apple pip –, he could have been easily convinced an entire hour had passed. The president asked if he needed to use the bathroom, to which Alfred said yes please. He was showed a clean, white door and then the one leading to the bedroom, before the president disappeared through the latter of the two. Alfred fled into the bathroom.

Once inside and with the door locked, he began pacing.

_Oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god… oh Jesus Christ!_

He stopped, having to grab onto the sink to keep himself from walking a frigging path into the floor, and stared at his own white face in the mirror.

 _So, this is it. Now you're here._ His breath fogged up the glass as he stared at himself. _This is it. You're gonna be fine. He knows what he's doing. Now you just have to get through it. It's gonna be fine._

A tiny smile flittered across his face. And before his feet could get too cold he quickly used the toilet, washed his hands thoroughly, tried regaining some of his normal facial colour and braved the outside of the bathroom with a deep breath.

He paused briefly in the hallway, looking at the entrance door and the door to the bedroom, and suddenly he got an odd comical feeling of standing in-between two worlds. Now wasn’t that world-class poetry. Then, without further ado, he pushed open the bedroom door and stepped inside.

The school president stood by a window at the opposite end of the room. The window was open, the rush of cars and noise of city life slipping into the room. The president must have heard him though, for he shut it and turned around. He was shirtless Alfred suddenly noticed and caught himself briefly searching for the shirt. He glanced back at the president.

The guy was not of the bulky muscular type, instead he had a lean athletic build, like a runner or something, and well, wasn’t that just right up Alfred’s street. Alfred pressed his lips together, looking away sheepishly. A low chuckle made his stomach quiver.

"You are allowed to look, you know."

Alfred’s eyes darted up, the president just standing there with his body on display, glittering eyes and the hint of a smirk in the corners of his mouth. Alfred coughed and swallowed to get some moisture back in his throat.

"So," he said hesitantly, "How exactly," he wasn't sure where to put his gaze. "How exactly do we go about this?"

"This is your first time, isn't it?" the president asked leisurely. Alfred tried not to let his discomfort at the question show. The president either didn't notice or was gracious enough to ignore it. "Don't worry," he said. "I'll be gentle. Just follow my lead." With those words, he had crossed the floor and was standing in front of Alfred. He looked at him and though Alfred was, in reality, a few inches both taller and wider, Alfred suddenly felt a whole lot smaller than him.

The president reached up, briefly sliding his finders across Alfred's cheek before gently curling them around his neck and pulling him down for a kiss. It was simple and chaste, a small taste that ended far too soon. Green eyes locked onto his blue, as though evaluating him. Then his mouth was back against Alfred’s, nipping lightly, coaxing him into opening his mouth.

It took Alfred a moment to respond. However, he was by no means a stranger to kissing, and after getting over his initial bout of immobilising bashfulness, a sort of self-righteous determination took over. He felt the need to prove he was not _entirely_ useless. Pushing back, he angled his head more for easier access and hesitating only briefly he licked into the president’s mouth. Of course, normally, his hands would be joining in on the whole ordeal, but at the moment they were just jittering unsurely at his sides. He kept second guessing every move he was about to make. It almost felt as though he would get an electric shock if he dared touch the president. Terrified of making mistakes, his arms remained hanging.

Somewhere amidst all of this, the president had slid an arm around Alfred’s waist and was slowly walking backwards, leading Alfred with him. The president managed to turn them around without Alfred noticing. He kept not noticing until he was pushed backwards, something hitting the back of his calves, for a split second panicking that he would hit the floor. He was met by the soft covers of the president's double bed instead.

Alfred lay on his back for a moment before the president jerked his head upwards and Alfred took the hint, crawling backwards further onto the bed. The president’s lips slightly curved, he put his hands to soft covers and followed, crawling up Alfred’s body. He reached up to Alfred's face, easily slipping the glasses off him. He laid them on the nightstand on the right side of the bed, Alfred briefly glancing at it before he was made to look back at the president, a hand on his chin guiding him, and he was encouraged into another deep kiss. The hand trailed across his skin, his cheek, traced the shell of his ear with a light touch, brushed through his hair, then rested against the pillow next to Alfred’s head. He kept avid track of every little movement, just barely managing to keep from jumping when another hand slipped under the edge of his shirt, pushing it slowly up across his stomach. Alfred’s muscles tensed minutely, air brushing against skin that was far more sensitive than it was supposed to be. In alcohol induced moments he had had the odd girl here and there feeling him up, but never had it felt quite like this. A hot trail in the wake of the other’s fingers, his self-consciousness immediately skyrocketing at this minimal shift of his clothes.

Alfred’s eyes squeezed shut – he didn’t know when he had first closed them. The president’s hand began rubbing small circles into his abdomen almost instantly, licking softly at his bottom lip, and gradually Alfred found himself relaxing.

The president’s mouth left him, nipping a trail across his cheek, the hand ghosting up his side outside the shirt. Alfred barely had the opportunity to notice the first button being popped open as a shallow puff of hot breath brushed against his ear. The most incredible, anticipating tingle ran through his body, taking Alfred completely by surprise. But he had no time to pay attention to it, for the president clearly saw it fit to scrape his teeth softly over the shell of his ear just then. With the next button, the student president gave a small bite and sparks alighted all along Alfred’s spine and straight to his groin. He had never thought such little touches could have such an impact – it never had before. Then again, those times had always been with girls, and they didn’t exactly do it for him, he supposed.

The president moved along Alfred’s neck, nibbling and kissing a slow path, flicking a button undone with each ministration. Finally, the last button must have been made away with, for hands brushed against Alfred’s shoulders. Not catching on at first, the president had to nudge him before he got enough sense to lift his back obligingly as the shirt was peeled off him with such skilful ease Alfred was momentarily quite astonished. Then this was completely wiped from his mind as the president slowly lowered to rest atop Alfred. Warm, naked skin against his own, the mere weight of the president pressing against him feeling so strangely amazing and accelerating. He was hit with the urge to wrap both arms tightly around the guy, but that strong self-conscience from before shot that idea in the face before he could act on it. Unhelpful voices in his head kindly reminded him he still didn’t know how to appropriately touch the president without making a fool of himself. At least a hug would not be the right way to go he thought, so his arms remained motionless on the bed.

The president’s breath was damp against Alfred’s neck, both hands tangling into his hair. The president’s hot trail reached the nape of Alfred’s neck, a tongue lapping lightly at his skin, teeth grazing and then the president _sucked_. Alfred moaned. Colour immediately prickled across his cheeks at the sound of his own voice for the first time. From his neck came a low hum. “That’s what you’re supposed to sound like.” The president’s hand curled into a fist in Alfred’s hair and his head was pulled to the side, exposing more of his neck. The forceful action did nothing to damped the thrills, little nips and bites delivered to his skin before the president scraped his teeth along the abused flesh. Warmth pooled in the Alfred’s gut and before he could stop himself, he had rolled his hips upwards. The president chuckled.

“I thought you’d like a bit of rough play.”

Alfred groaned as the president proceeded to push his groin back against him and the friction just felt so god damned amazing all thought and common sense evaporated from his mind all at once. Poof. Gone. Why had he been nervous again? The president shifted, the pressure of him lightening slightly. Alfred was having none of that. His hands automatically snapped up, grabbed the president by his hips and forced him back down, grinding them back together again, harder than before. He could hear the president make an amused snort. “Easy big boy, or you won’t last very long.”

Alfred frowned, his eyes opening – when had he closed them again? –, _some_ sense returning to him. The president was sitting upright, straddling him, Alfred’s hands clamped firmly on either side of him. Somehow, the view, in all its simplicity, made Alfred’s heart beat faster and that hot coil in his gut shot straight into his cock. A smirk twisted one corner of the president’s mouth. Alfred realised with a furious blush that the other had probably felt it. Then the president rocked his hips, swivelling them, and Alfred’s brief bashfulness disappeared immediately as his head craned back, his eyes shut and he moaned deep in his chest.

Out of nowhere, the president’s lips were on his again and Alfred had no reservations in delving hungrily into it. Their breathing was ragged and Alfred’s hands tightened on the president’s hips. At any other moment, Alfred would have been aware of possible bruising, but right then and there he did not have any spare capacity to notice. Either way, the president said nothing of it.

Far too soon it was over, the president leaving him briefly before his teeth were nipping gently across Alfred’s collar bone. From there, he took his sweet time tasting, and softly – and sometimes not so softly – biting the skin of Alfred’s chest and lower torso. He traced the line of every muscle, all the way humming low in his throat. Moving steadily downward, he shifted, crawling backwards down Alfred’s legs. The loss of pressure against his crotch had him choking out an instinctive growl, which in turn made the president chuckle and glance up to meet Alfred’s stare with amusedly glinting eyes. He spread Alfred’s legs with ease, settling between them, resting them across his thighs, and that simple action should _not_ feel as amazing as it did whilst at the same time making Alfred feel strangely vulnerable in a way that was insanely hot. Man, he was so hard it friggin’ _hurt_.

The president paused in place then and Alfred was not quick enough to catch the miserable, tiny whine his throat made. It earned him a smirk and the bulge in his pants was openly eyed and Alfred briefly wondered if it was possible to die from embarrassment. Then he felt the president’s hands on his thighs, massaging small circles with his thumbs into the taut muscles there and Alfred could only roll his head back once more, doing his damned best to suffocate a frustrated moan. Slowly, slowly, so tantalizingly slowly, those hands followed the seam of his pants. When they reached where legs joined body they stopped and Alfred lifted his head in confusion, only for his hips to involuntarily buck upwards as a thumb traced along his zipper. The touch was immediately snatched away and the president’s eyes glittered at him. Oh how tempted Alfred was to just grab him and rut into him helplessly until he reached his release. Anything to put an end to this teasing. Or the mattress could develop a taste for human, swallow him whole and save him this mortification. Either one was good really.

Another feather light touch traced across his clothed erection and it took every ounce of self-control Alfred possessed not to rock wantonly up into it. One finger slid along his skin just above the waistband, unclasped his belt, undid the button, but went no farther. It was driving Alfred insane. Then president cupped one single hand over the bulge in Alfred’s pants and he thought the skin would melt clean off his body. Sparks burst behind his eyes as slight pressure was added. But it was still far from satisfying. Leaving anything called self-respect or synonyms thereof behind, Alfred pushed into the touch. Again the president pulled back and Alfred could only clutch onto the sheets, slamming his head back into the pillows. The president chuckled as he leaned over him, giving his chest a little lick and left a trail of gentle bites across his abdomen. Fingertips curled under the waistband of his trousers but stayed otherwise annoyingly impassive.

Reaching his bellybutton the president nipped at the fine hair trailing from it. The area sensitive, the action was just this side of pleasurable pain and made Alfred shiver slightly with goosebumps. He propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see the president nuzzle his nose against the hard bulge in his pants. Alfred’s head dropped back as he strangled another moan. At _last_ he heard his zipper being undone and Alfred lifted his hips, all too eager to comply when the president tugged on his pants.

Then that tiny voice in the back of his mind far too loudly reminded him what was going on, rudely pulling him from his pleasure-induced daze. Suddenly, he wasn’t in quite so much of a hurry, his stomach turning as he watched his pants be removed leaving only a thin, small article of clothing left to cover him. The president hiked his fingers under the hem of his boxers and Alfred nearly wanted to curl into a ball or something, but with the president between his legs he felt kind of immobilised.

He shifted slightly without meaning to. The president glanced up, meeting Alfred’s eyes and seemed to catch on. Alfred even had the left-over will to be annoyed at how apparently easy it was to read him. The president paused and leaning a hand against his chest, he said, “relax,” pushing Alfred back down into the covers, surprisingly gentle. “Relax,” he repeated, and Alfred really tried.

Okay, so he could change in the gym and shower in the school’s shared changing room after P.E without any trouble. So why should this be different? It shouldn’t be, but it was. Way, way different. Way more intimate.

"Lift your hips," the student president instructed. Alfred complied, though with far more self-conscious thoughts tumbling in his head this time around. Cool air brushed across him as his boxers were discarded to the floor. The president pressed a few kisses along Alfred’s left thigh, his hands resting on Alfred’s hips. Several long moments passed until the president ran his fingers across the lower part of Alfred’s stomach and then along his cock. Alfred froze. The president brushed his thumb against the swollen tip and Alfred could feel the other grin against his thigh as his breath hitched and caught in his throat. Next, something happened that made Alfred gasp and then moan.

Hot and wet pressure closed around the head and sunk slowly, gradually down. He could feel the tongue moving against his sensitive skin, licking and then pressing lightly against the slit. Alfred was gone. The soft overs bunched in his fists, his eyes closed and mouth open, spikes of delicious tingles shooting up his spine. It only got better when the tight heat around him started _moving._ He was so lost in it he did not hear a plastic cap pop open and therefore did not have the chance to marvel at the student president’s incredible multitasking abilities. Alfred noticed nothing until slick, warm fingers pressed gently against his- well- _that_ end. His little world of bliss went up in a small cloud of smoke. Immediately he tensed up.

The president shifted, hiking Alfred’s legs up slightly, pulling him further into his lap, and leaned up. His hand remained between Alfred’s ass cheeks but he did nothing apart from a subtle stroking-motion with just the fingertips. He gave Alfred a kiss, then bent his head further down, his hair falling in sandy blond tussles over Alfred’s face.

“Relax,” the president hummed into his ear, giving the shell a soft bite, and Alfred really, _really_ tried. He pulled in a deep breath, held it briefly, and let it out slowly. “Good,” the president encouraged. “That’s good. Now relax for me.” Slowly, so very, very slowly, one single finger was pressed into him.

It was definitely the weirdest sensation Alfred had ever felt. It didn't hurt, stung slightly initially perhaps, but that was it. It was simply weird and uncomfortable rather than painful. The president slowly wiggled his finger, twisting and turning it a little, taking his time, and-

"What was _that?"_ Alfred groaned. Something had been touched or grazed or _something_ , and that something felt very _different_. The president touched the place again and Alfred buried his fingers into the duvet. That had to be what Alfred had read about. The famous prostate-thingy. It was a feeling close to pleasure. Yet it felt sort of numb at the same time, not completely real, as if muffled. As the president gradually added another finger and after a long while a third one, Alfred could not feel it anymore. It had been reduced to a dull, faint sensation; the stretch of his skin stung, starting to borderline painful, and was so straight down embarrassing that he didn't have any brain capacity to spare for such.

It felt like forever and had probably been even longer (no one could say anything on the president’s patience), until the strong discomfort subsided and Alfred’s bowels began gradually unfurling. The worst was over, he thought. Boy was he wrong. After the fingers were pulled out, there was a short pause of nothing, and then Alfred could feel something entirely different pushing against him. There was a moment of pressure, then the president’s blunt head abruptly slid in. Alfred’s mouth sprung open. He gasped sharply. This was nothing like the fingers had been. He heaved for breath a couple of times, eyes staring straight up at the ceiling. He had figured it would hurt – that was somewhat self-explanatory – but had clearly not prepared himself sufficiently. With great effort, Alfred tried to school his features.

The president waited. When Alfred managed to calm somewhat again, he pushed a little further. Alfred's eyes squeezed shut and before he could stop himself, his hands flew to the president's hair as a kiss was pressed to his mouth.

" _Fuck,_ " Alfred hissed. "No one told me it would hurt like this."

"Try to breathe," the president answered. "It helps. All your muscles are clenching up, that’s what’s making it hurt. Take slow, deep breaths. That's good." He pushed a little further. An indescribable pain shot up Alfred's spine and he tightened a fist in the president's hair, a weird intention far back in his mind to deal some pain back at the other. He focused on breathing, breathing, breathing, and gave the president a curt nod to keep going.

It didn't take long until he tightened his fist again though and the president halted. They stayed like that for a little while, Alfred with his eyes closed and brows furrowed as he told himself to pull himself together. This was just ridiculous.

"Alright," Alfred said through gritted teeth. "Keep going. I'm fin-EAAAG! _Fucking hell, how much is left?!_ "

The president captured his mouth again. Most likely to shut him up or something of the like Alfred distantly thought through a haze of prickling discomfort. "Halfway," the president said against his lips. He pushed his hips a little more, Alfred once again all but screaming out in pain. His hands were tight fists in the president's hair, who didn't seem to care. Either that or he was just being extremely tolerant. He probably had good practice in that field being the student council president and all, Alfred thought with bitter humour. Meanwhile, a constant chant of " _fuck, fuck, fuck"_ was on endless repeat in his head.

For every little move the president made, he either whimpered or cursed or pulled at the president's hair, or two of the mentioned things at the same time. Or all three. Somewhere along the way his thighs had begun trembling as well. Well, wasn't that just great. Though in-between the stings of pain, he barely had time to be embarrassed about it. Every muscle in his rear end was protesting against the intrusion. It didn't feel natural. _It_ was too big and he was just too small.

"You are whining quite a lot," the president suddenly commented, looking down at Alfred as he supported himself on his hands. "Is this not what you wanted?" Alfred only managed a half-hearted glare in return. He was entitled to whine when it hurt this much.

"I am entitled to whine when it hurts this much," he said. …And he was entitled to say exactly what he was thinking without filtering it when it hurt this much too. But he didn’t feel like acting further on his self-proclaimed entitlement at seeing the president’s humoured look, and for a while not a word was exchanged between them.

It had taken forever, but at last he could feel something leaning against his butt cheeks. Most likely and most probably, the president's hip. Meaning; the president was all inside.

"Okay, okay, stop," Alfred breathed. His thighs were still quivering and though he had really just been lying there on his back for the most of it he was starting to feel tired. He let go of the president's hair and let his hands and arms hang loosely around the president's shoulder. He pulled the guy down to him and rested his head against the president's shoulder, hiding his face in the warm nape of the older guy’s neck.

Alfred had never talked to the president face to face before today. They didn't know each other at all, except the president now knew his body – or certain parts of it – better than he did himself. His inner voice told him this was no time to be showing feelings so openly (like the horribly honest weak vulnerability as he was displaying at the moment), but he was incapable of listening to it. Alfred knew he would be regretting it like shit tomorrow, that he should have been regretting it like shit right then and there, and that this was all a very bizarrely, absurdly weird situation. But he was caught in the haze of the moment and couldn’t stop.

For a while, only the sound of their breathing filled the room, the school president remaining completely still. Finally, Alfred retreated slowly from his neck. "Alright, I'm fine." The president nodded and withdrew a little before gently going back in. Alfred doubted he had even withdrawn halfway, but was happy for the slack presented him.

Gradually, the president's speed and force picked up – though very, very gradually so. Around that time, Alfred marvelled over how adaptable the human body really was. It wasn't like it was completely painless just yet, but it wasn't half as bad as before. Actually, it was even less, only little pinpricks of discomfort still underlining the movement when the president was starting to reach what Alfred had decided to dub a ‘normal’ tempo, or whatever.

However, as this kept up and it didn't hurt anymore, Alfred couldn't really feel anything else either. Any pleasure, that was. It wasn't like the school president wasn't good – for he was. His hands seemed to know every little place on his body that felt good, his tongue was just straight out wonderful and the guy wasn't exactly an eyesore, either. It was obvious the rumours were true and that this president had more than enough experience under his belt. So, the question as to why he didn't feel anything at the moment was something Alfred couldn't answer. Perhaps, he mused, he wasn't gay after all?

…Alfred stared at the ceiling. He imagined going at it with a well-endowed girl instead.

Nope; he was still gay. The cause had to be something else.

Regardless of whatever the reason was, Alfred could not help start looking for a watch. Because this, regardless of how much attention the president was showing him with his fondling and touching and kissing and nibbling and whatnot, was getting to be boring. Alfred felt like face palming himself. Sheesh, what a thing to be thinking. But, it was true. They must have been going on like this for at least the better part of an hour, counting in how long it took him to get adjusted. Maybe even two hours – but Alfred wasn't going to start guessing about that. The thing was, seeing as he didn't feel anything and nothing new was happening, he was growing bored… But how do you tell _that_ to your sex partner? Alfred bit his lip and-

"Agh! Stop, wait, stop!" Alfred abruptly jolted to half sit up in the bed, grabbing his own left foot and with his left hand bent his toes up and backwards. "I got a cramp. I got a cramp in my toes," Alfred groaned, hanging onto the offending appendage. Jeez, it hurt. Worst of all; it was completely true. He had a real cramp, and it really, frickin’ _hurt._ This seriously wasn't – to put it mildly – what Alfred had had in mind when he wanted a bail-out excuse at all. He glanced up at the president, immediately wishing he hadn't. Above him, the school president was looking at him with one lifted eyebrow and what had to be a mixture of a mildly entertained and puzzled look.

Then the dude laughed. Or maybe more like snickered shortly, green eyes glittering. Alfred grumbled, looking at the wall with a frown, remaining a good hold on his toes. This cramp was persistent.

"You’re a special one, aren’t you?" the president remarked.

"So the girls tell me too. But they mean it in a good way," Alfred grunted.

"You are quite different to what I expected when Gilbert told me the school's quarterback wanted an ‘appointment’ with me." Both the president's voice and eyes were those of unmistakable, humoured teasing – and too clearly showed how immensely he was enjoying himself. At Alfred’s expense.

"Whatever," Alfred muttered, still not wanting to look directly at him. There was a short pause. The president broke it.

"Well, I suggest we call it a night. It is getting to be late and I need to wake up early." With that, he pulled himself out of Alfred, though slowly. Something that felt a little weird on Alfred's end, and he almost expected there to be a small popping sound at the end. Of course there wasn't. The president got off him and lay down next to him, on the left side of the bed. Alfred spotted a digital alarm clock on the nightstand next to the president (how on earth had he missed it earlier?), but he looked away before he could see what the numbers read.

As he lay down as well, pulling the shared, big duvet up to his chin, the president said, "Good night."

"Uh, yeah, good night," Alfred dumbly replied.

* * *

 

How he in the end fell asleep, he didn't know. He had been staring and staring and staring at the wall, his stomach in a strange uproar he couldn't quite define the nature of. The school president on the other hand must have fallen asleep rather quickly. At least it hadn't taken long before Alfred heard the guy’s breaths becoming more regular and still. At some point, during his long wake, he had turned around in sudden curiosity. He wasn't sure what he had expected or what he was looking for really, and never got to find out either, for the president lay with his back to him. Alfred hadn't pursued the matter further and turned back to stare at the wall.

How the president had handled this so easily was another good question. The guy obviously had been hard – well _duh_ – otherwise they could not have been doing what they did, yet he had laid down and fallen asleep seemingly without a problem in the world. Alfred sighed. Maybe that was what came with a heap of experience: mega control over your junk.

One way or the other, as he brooded over these things, Alfred had fallen asleep. He must have, for he woke up the next morning.

The bed was empty. The school president's side was cold. The blinds were pulled down, though Alfred was quite sure they hadn’t been before they began their _business_ the day before. Not dwelling on it, he looked up at the ceiling for a little while and then turned over on his side to grab his glasses. Under them, there was a white note. Alfred put on the glasses and examined the small piece of paper.

_There's an extra key in the bowl in the hallway. Don't forget to lock the door when you leave and just give it back to me on Monday. You are free to use the shower and help yourself to food in the kitchen._

_-Arthur_

 


	4. Chapter 4

Right. Alfred flipped over to lie on his back and stare at the ceiling again, the note in one hand. The ceiling was a cream coloured sort of plate. It wasn't wood, but something else. Come to think of it, he mused as he gazed up, he rarely took notice of what the ceilings of different rooms and houses looked like. Interesting.

But, as he finished letting himself be humoured by this thought, reality came back.

"Aw, geez," Alfred groaned, shoving his glasses up across his forehead and resting his hands on his face. "I did it. I actually did it." He groaned aloud once more just for the sake of it.

"I can't believe it," he whispered, and spread his fingers to peek out through them. "I'm really here," his stomach tingled and churned. "In someone else's flat… because I had sex with that person." The tingling intensified as he just laid there for a few seconds with big eyes, almost not daring to move. He swallowed, rubbed his eyes and pulled in a deep breath. On the exhale, he swiftly turned over and sat up- _immediately regretting it._

" _Holy hell,"_ he gasped and leaned forward over his knees to lighten the pressure. His eyes darted around the room in a moment of sheer panic at the pain. Then he put two and two together and groaned aloud again. _All right,_ he told himself. _One, two, three, four, five, six_ and up he sat again –only to lean right back across his knees. With a surrendering groan, he hugged his knees, lying against his thighs, and remained like that for a while. This time the floor ended up being subjected to his staring. That he did this, however, let him notice something else: another small, white note. It was stuck to the floor under his toes, but his feet did not cover the writing on it, so he could read it without having to pick it up.

"Take your time, your arse will hurt for a while..." he slowly read aloud. Alfred stared, perplexed, at it for a whole of fifteen seconds. "...What?"

Had this note been on the nightstand together with the other note, but had fallen down? He frowned and reached down to pick it up. However, he discovered he couldn't; it was taped to the floor. "What the...? Why did he do that?" How could he have been so sure Alfred would rea– Oh. _That smug bastard._

Alfred glared at the note. So, the school president had his every move all figured out, huh? He sure was full of himself.

The sudden fuelled anger (or stubbornness, or indignation, or a mix of all three) made him stand right up and stride with long, fast steps to the bathroom, regardless of the state of his bottom. Once there, he took a quick piss, discovered he was very naked, and had to return to the bedroom, much to his chagrin. He looked around for his clothes, even bending down with a grimace to look under the bed. But, he could not find them. He turned around to return to the bathroom, his burning indignation dampened somewhat by his rising confusion.

And there they were. On a chair by the door, neatly folded and piled. All frustration completely gone now, he shuffled over to the chair and picked up in his clothes in wonder. Okay, so… maybe the guy wasn't so bad overall?

He got dressed and went for the kitchen next. On the counter top, another white note had been left, accompanied by a small, rectangular box _. "Here are some painkillers. We cannot have you return to your family like a whining baby."_ Nope, the guy was definitely an ass. Besides, it wasn’t even hurting that much! After the intial urprise and he had eased down, he was fine. Not looking forward to taking a dump, but that was something else entirely.

Alfred slammed the box –which, after a little bit of inspection, showed to contain small, white pills- down on the counter. He proceeded to grab an apple, hurried out in the hallway, picked up his things and had placed a hand on the doorknob when his stomach growled. It would not be satisfied with one, small fruit.

With the fifth groan of that morning, he dropped his bag to the floor and reluctantly returned to the kitchen, every step of the way feeling like he betrayed himself.

 _Well_ , he looked around, taking the kitchen into full view as he stood in the door face. He stopped for a second, and then came to a conclusion. _"Take whatever you want of food from the kitchen,_ was it? Well, thank you very much, then."

 

* * *

 

His plan had been to spend the entire weekend sitting in front of the tv playing Kiku's games. The first thing he did after entering his house was drop down in the middle of the couch, spread his legs and arms wide, and basically conquer all of the couch with his body. Then he switched on the correct gaming platform, the television and grabbed around the gaming controller. The soft cushions of their three-seat couch was a blessing after walking for ten minutes and sitting on a hard bus seat in another twenty all the way home. When he had first sat down, he fully intended not to get back up except to get food, go to the toilet and go to sleep. If need be, he didn't mind sleeping on the couch either.

"Where have you been?"

"Didn't Matt tell you I'd be at a friend's place?" Alfred did not even bothering to look up at his mum who had stopped behind the couch to address him. He could see a faint reflection of her in the television screen; it looked like she was carrying a stack of clean laundry. Probably tablecloths, Alfred concluded, seeing as they kept those in a cupboard in the living room, where the two of them were at the moment.

Alfred's mum huffed and carried on to her destination toward the other end of the living room, where she – as Alfred had anticipated – began pushed folded cloths into one of the cupboards there. "And who was this friend of yours?"

"Just a friend," Alfred replied with a shrug. There was a short pause, and then his mother's voice came again, though slower and sneakier.

"Was it _a girl_?"

"No."

Alfred could hear a heavy sigh from his left. Geez, his mother and her need to know everything. "Then, who was it? Someone I know?"

Alfred groaned a little, expressing his annoyance with her nosiness. But he answered her all the same.

"Arthur Kirkland from third grade," And he had expected his mother to leave it at that; as he had never mentioned him to her before, she should not really know who he was and therefore have no interest in continuing her inquire. But, no.

"Arthur Kirkland?" she asked, sounding a little surprised. "Oh, that must be Alice Kirkland's son."

Alfred all but nearly lost the controller. He spun abruptly around in the couch to look at her –to his rear's chagrin. "You know him?" he asked, flat out disbelieving.

"Well, I have never met Arthur, but I know his mother."

"Where do you know her from?" Alfred ignored the ‘ _game over’_ blinking at the television screen; the position as the inquirer had been swapped around. _When_ did this happen? What kind of sick coincidence was this, that she would suddenly know the school president's mother?

His mother smiled. "My sewing club, every Thursday," And she picked up the remaining laundry that did not belong in the cupboard, leaving the living room with Alfred staring baffled after her. She disappeared out of view, her steps up the stairs sounding in her wake. Alfred slowly slid down in the couch and back toward the tv screen, retaining the same blown expression. The screen still flashed big letters telling him he was dead and almost numbly he pressed _x_ to make it go away. He got the question if he wanted to start over, but ignored it; he was busy trying to calm himself and think rationally, it was not like it really matter whether their parents knew each other or not. He rubbed his forehead, then reaffirmed his grip on the controller again, determined not to let this become an issue. As he started the game from an earlier save, he could hear his mother descending the stairs again in the background.

"How about we ask them over for dinner sometime?" her voice sounded from the hallway.

Alfred froze. Then he flipped around.

_"What?"_

This was indeed a hideous trick of fate; no rational thinking in the world could ever trick him to believe otherwise. With the remembrance of those little white notes clear in mind, he could only begin to imagine how horrid the school president could make such a dinner for him.

 

* * *

 

By the time Monday came around, Alfred had used more time convincing his mother there was no reason to invite the Kirkland's than on playing Kiku's video game. He couldn't be bothered to feel depressed about the lost gaming time, though, as he was too relieved his mother had seemed to finally dismiss the dinner idea at the end of Sunday night. Matthew had appeared mildly surprised when he heard who the ‘friend’ Alfred had stayed over at was (appearing only ‘mildly’ probably because he wasn't displaying his feelings like Alfred always told him he should), but he had not asked much about it. Either that, or Alfred had failed to notice him asking between his tries to talk their mother from the dinner party. However, now that they were heading for school, nothing seemed to stop his brother.

"I didn't know you knew Arthur Kirkland," he noted as they sat side by side on the bus. Alfred shrugged. It took a little more than he would like to admit to retain his cool and relaxed exterior.

"Then what were you doing at his house?" Matthew wondered. Alfred shrugged again, battling a faint tingling in his core. They were twins. They were very different, even for twins, but Alfred would still count them as very close, and they did talk about most stuff with each other. Yet, at the thought of sharing this with Matt, he suddenly felt very sheepish. He realised he would rather not.

"He was helping me with homework," he therefore brushed his brother off, continuing to gaze absently out the window, like he had since they entered the bus. Matthew sighed, leaning back in his seat.

"What's he like?" he asked, making Alfred turn slightly to him in surprise. It was Matthew's turn to shrug at the attention from his twin brother, though he did so with a small, lopsided smile and almost apologetic eyes. "I mean, is he like all the rumours say?"

Alfred gave it a short ponder. Matthew waited. Then Alfred deadpanned,

"Pretty much."

Matthew laughed and Alfred proceeded to steer the conversation onto something else.

Alfred safely reached school. He safely found Kiku, and safely returned the game, concluding that it had been awesome – even though he had not finished it, but he didn’t say that –. Then he safely found his classroom and seat, and safely engaged in a safe, cheerful conversation with a couple of friends. His heart kept a steady and safe beat, as he realised no one knew of what had happened in the weekend, and that despite being a _smug ass_ , Arthur Kirkland didn't run his mouth about other's business (even though it was technically Kirkland's business as well. More than technically. But still).

His heartbeat went from a safe to a sleepy one as their history teacher took the classroom and began the first lecture of the day. He babbled on about this and that and whatever, while Alfred played with his rubber, cutting off little chunks with his ruler and chucking them –using the ruler as a catapult – at random people in the classroom. He even did it at the teacher once or twice. Both times, he put on a very innocent and clueless face when the teacher turned around, receiving hushed laughs from his fellow classmates when the teacher returned to the blackboard without having found the culprit.

But, even though the history teacher had a sneaking feeling – or probably more of a cut-in-stone-certainty – of the students not really paying attention (apart from two or three), they were, at the very least, quiet.

In comparison, that was something completely different to the lecture that followed. The subject was maths. The teacher was an elderly woman, surely having been employed at the school for a hundred and eleven years, and deeply stuck in the old reforms. Her stressed hushes and annoyed 'quiet down's were mostly ignored, and after spending the first fifteen minutes trying to get everyone's attention and huffing about, she would always resign to teach the four students at the front who – for some reason or another – bothered to pay attention.

Today was no exception.

That was at least until half the lesson had passed, and a sudden sound interrupted the fifty-and-something years old teacher's lecture. The loudspeakers made a small explosion, crackled a little and then made a _‘pling_ ’ sound. The so unbearably loud class fell quiet on the second –the teacher sighing quietly.

**_"Good day."_ **

A murmur went through the class. The same murmur that always could be heard when the school's _president_ was on the line. The guy really had quite the reputation, Alfred noted, but for once he didn't partake in the murmuring. Instead, he tried not to shift in his seat.

**_"This is your president speaking. Could Alfred F. Jones please come to my office after the lesson?"_ **

Alfred froze.

 ** _"Alfred F. Jones. Thank you,"_** and the speakers died. A moment of silence followed. Then the classroom exploded, completely washing away the teacher's immediate commands for order, and even the dutiful four-leaf clover at the front turned to look at the blond at the back.

" _What did you do_?"

Alfred found himself cornered by a crowd of glowing, hungry-for-gossip, fellow students’ eyes. For a split second he glanced from face to face, even spotting Matthew's somewhere in the background – who by the way was a part of the four-leafed clover of front row angel students, and who Alfred was going to copy the notes off of later. But then he got a hold of himself, slouched back in his chair, wore his winning grin, and said with great ease,

"Dunno. Maybe he's gonna confess to me or somethin'."

It made the class snicker. Arthur Kirkland had a reputation, and an odd form for respect with the student body, but that didn't stop them from spinning jokes about him.

"Well, it sounds like you're like totally in trouble."

Alfred scoffed jokingly, still with the grin on his face. "Aw c'mon, I'm sure he'll just wanna tell me I've been scouted by some top league football team," he winked, laughter followed, and he proceeded to take on a more aloof serious face. "Whatever it is, I've never spoken to the dude face to face before. S'gonna be interesting," _Shit._ Mistake. In the back of the crowd, he could just barely spot Matthew and a small wrinkle appearing between his twin brother's brows.

Alfred laughed at a joke he hadn't heard a word of, pushing his brother to the back of his mind.

He worked out a few more humorous ideas for the president’s sudden request with the rest of his class, before they finally returned to the lesson (or returned to chatting about all and nothing, not paying attention). He had pulled it off. None of them had become suspicious, and without daring a glance toward his brother, he kept up the façade.

On the inside however, he was having a full-fledged panic attack, nervous, and mental breakdown at the same time. He was a mess. And not a pretty one.

 

* * *

 

Alfred had received a few joking pats on the back as the others headed for lunch and he headed for the school president's office. He had grinned and poked his tongue out at their laughing "Good luck!"s, probably (hopefully) looking cool as ever.

It wasn't all _that_ far from the classroom he had been having maths in to the school president's office; the classroom at been on the ground floor, relatively close to the staircase, and the president's office was at the second floor, though in the other end of the building. It took him about five minutes to walk there. Then it took him three heavy inhales and exhales before he knocked on the door – no wait, make that four inhales an – no five.

After counting ten pairs of inhales and exhales, Alfred lifted his knuckles he had rested against the door after the third exhale and let them fall against the door. He knocked four times, before gingerly pushing down the handle and poking his head in. And it was probably more out of a force of habit than any great bravery on his part that he grinned lopsidedly and said "You wanted to see me?" when he met eyes with the president behind a desk visa-vi the door.

Kirkland glanced up from something he was writing, smiled so his eyes twinkled when he spotted Alfred, and nodded him in.

"Yes, just a minute," he said. "Take a seat."

Alfred ventured inside and closed the door behind him. There was a chair in front and slightly to the side of the president's desk. The room was tidy, and the furniture showed no signs of any particular wear and tear. There was a bookcase full of folders and expensive looking books, and the curtains adoring the window behind Kirkland were not nearly as boring as the ones found in every and any classroom in the building. Overall, Alfred concluded as he slowly slumped down in the chair offered to him, it looked very much like any principal's office. Not to mention probably a lot nicer than many other schools' presidents' offices. If they at all had an office of their own. Wasn't it normal for them to share a room together with the rest of the student council? No wonder Kirkland acted all high and mighty.

The school president had put his pen down, though Alfred didn't notice –he was too busy stealing glances about the room – until Kirkland politely cleared his throat.

Alfred snapped his head back to the president. "Yes?" he croaked before thinking better of it. But, even though blurting this out (not to mention the state of his voice as he did so) made his stomach turn and hands fist up, it seemed to amuse Arthur Kirkland greatly. He leaned back in his chair, casually folding his hands.

"How are you doing?" he asked, pulling Alfred out of his short stupor of embarrassment.

"Oh, uh, fine," he said. He sounded really intelligent, didn't he? But Kirkland just smiled.

"That's good to know. I noticed you didn't take any of the painkillers I offered you," Kirkland said, voice fairly innocent and colloquial. Alfred stiffened. "However," Kirkland said, voice slowing slightly as he observed Alfred. Alfred in turn waited with a hammering heart. "I also noticed you took a gracious amount of the contents in my fridge and cupboards."

Alfred swallowed. But even though Arthur Kirkland, at the moment, appeared ever so slightly intimidating, being reminded of his earlier actions also reminded him of what had driven him to do it in the first place. Parts of the indignation and frustration from then bubbled to life. He shrugged nonchalantly, slouched a bit more into the chair and said,

"It was your offer. And I was hungry."

"Quite," was Kirkland's short reply. Though, his eyes were still twinkling. He was quiet for a while, and Alfred steeled himself to remain calm and casual in the chair. Then Kirkland suddenly extended one hand across the desk, leaning forwards.

It bade Alfred jump, which in turn made Kirkland chuckle once, and this again made Alfred scowl.

"What?" he asked. Really rather rudely.

"Do you have my key?" Kirkland replied, a small smile on his lips. It rendered Alfred baffled and completely lost for words. He had forgotten all about that. Having been prepared to basically pick a fight, backed up by his indignation, his brain had to spend several seconds to get on the right track from the unannounced hundred and eighty degree turn.

"Oh, yeah, I do," Alfred said hurriedly once his mind was back on track. Still a little out of it, he began frisking himself for the key. Soon noticing it was not in any of his pockets, he went through his bag, and after a long, thorough search, found it at the bottom.

"Here," he handed it to Kirkland across the desk.

"Thank you," Kirkland slipped it into the pocket of his school uniform jacket. "Do you want to decide on another date to meet up again?"

Alfred could have rolled his eyes, but had to make do with doing it in the back his mind. Arthur Kirkland said that in the same voice one would ask someone the price of the tomatoes, or talk of the weather, or - or make an appointment at the dentist's office, for that matter.

"Sure," Alfred shrugged. His voice had come out a little meeker than he intended, but he crossed his fingers Kirkland hadn't noticed. He probably had though.

The school president nodded, flipping open a book Alfred recognised to be a very traditional, black leather bound planner. "When are you free?" he asked whilst flipping through the pages to reach the current day's date.

Alfred gave it a thought. Or, he pretended he did anyway, for truth be told, he went completely blank trying to remember what possible plans he had already made for the future. When he didn't say anything for a while, Kirkland patted his pen against the planner a few times before saying,

"How about Saturday?"

"This Saturday?" Alfred replied dumbly.

"Yes, this Saturday," Kirkland answered with ease, looking back down in his planner. "I am free for mostly the whole day, Sunday as well,"

"Oh," Alfred's brain was still one, big, white sheet. "Sure, Saturday's fine." This was absurd.

They were quiet as Kirkland jotted down their appointment. Occupied with his planner and face turned downwards, it gave Alfred a chance to properly look at the school president. It was of course not as if he hadn't seen him before or anything. But in comparison to the glances and little looks people gave one another on a daily basis, Alfred could now sit and closely observe the other. The president's eyebrows were big. That he had noticed before, but now he saw how every little hair made out each eyebrow. They fit the president's face oddly well, now that he thought about it. The bridge of his nose was almost flawlessly straight, without the little bump at the middle that so many had. At the tip, it was neat and slightly rounded, catching part of the light from the lamp overhead. He couldn't see his eyes, as his face was cast downwards. Instead, he saw one small line running from the inner corner of each eye; traces of eye bags. Huh. He hadn’t noticed that before.

Alfred's eyes followed the lines of Kirkland's face. It didn't look like he had much facial hair. Looking closely, there were traces of a moustache, but the hair was too light and thin to really be noticed. This was probably why the president had not shaved. Some guys had less facial hair than others did, or it came later. Concidering what he knew about the president, he had probably dropped shaving all together (Alfred knew several who shaved just for the sake of encouraging the growth), as it saved him trouble. And girls liked a smooth face. Or some did. As far as Alfred knew anyway. Kirkland's lips were a shadow or two darker than his skin, and a shade redder. Ish. Though only very vaguely. Now that the president wasn't talking, mouth closed and neutral, Alfred noticed just how plump they were. Well, not like a girl's, but in his mind, guys didn't have lips. That was a girl thing. But they were there. The top lip slimmer than the bottom. They were matt, and slightly rounded. Alfred had kissed those lips –or, well, they had kissed him, to be more exact. He traced their edge with his eyes, every little curve and dip. He wanted to kiss them again. Right now.

… _Okay!_ Looking at something else. Kirkland had ear flips. His ears were not the kinds that were completely rid of flips all together, but he didn't have those that hang downwards from where they came out of the skull. He had, like, half an ear flip. Sort of? Alfred laughed inwardly at himself. He was so lame.

Alfred was lost in his own thoughts, humouring himself greatly, so he didn't notice the small glance Kirkland gave him.

"Say," the president said. Alfred was jerked back to reality. The president gave him another glance. Then he put his pen down, closed the book and slid it into the uppermost desk drawer. "Are you sure you will be alright so quickly?"

"What do you mean?"

Kirkland smiled a little. "Your arse, Jones. It would not be good if it was still sore on Saturday." His smile widened and he leaned forwards, observing Alfred with those self-confident, knowingly glinting green eyes.

Heat immediately rose to Alfred's cheeks. "Yes, I'll be fine!" he said promptly.

"Alright. Though this time I don't have to leave early on Sunday, so I won't have to only leave notes again."

Alfred met Kirkland's eyes. Three seconds of silence passed. Then Kirkland grinned. "That colour is rather fetching on you, Jones."

Alfred jumped out of the chair. "See you Saturday!" And quickly left for the door. Behind him, he heard a "Looking forward to it," from Kirkland. Alfred ripped open the door-

Only to come face to face with someone. He was abruptly stopped dead in his tracks, having been close to running straight into the poor person. Blue eyes looked surprised at him, an elegant eyebrow lifting with intrigue. "Bonjour," the person, more accurately student council vice president Francis Bonnefoy, said with a charming smile.

"Sorry," Alfred said quickly, stepping past him. The vice president entered the room behind him and as the door swung to shut, Alfred could hear him speak,

"Zat was zat Alfred boy from second grade, non?" And said blond second grader couldn't help but halt again. He could still hear their voices; the door had not closed properly.

With a heart that picked up in speed, trying his best to breathe soundlessly, he snuck back to the door. The hallway was empty; the very faint sounds of people outside seeping through the windows the only thing filling it.

"I didn't zink virgins were your zing?" Alfred's breath caught in his throat. Why, _how,_ did Bonnefoy know that? That wasn’t good. Maybe Kirkland didn't bother running his lip about others, but Bonnefoy wasn't made of the same wood.

"No, it isn't," Kirkland replied. Alfred's heart thumped away. Any minute someone could come around the corner, spot him, and they would know he was listening. Wait. _What_ had Kirkland just said?

"So Alfred is special?" Bonnefoy asked, voice obviously teasing. Kirkland huffed. The sound of a pen scratching against paper started up.

"No. But," the pen stopped briefly. "You must have seen him without a shirt before." Bonnefoy laughed. Alfred became beat read. And hot. Not sure whether to feel flattered or the complete opposite. "Besides," Kirkland continued, the pen picking up again. "He is entertaining," Bonnefoy laughed even more.

"Tu es so evil, Arthur,"

"Well, they all seem to be of the opinion that the English are weak and gay. I am merely doing my duty to show them it is quite the other way around."

"Remind me," Bonnefoy said, a smirk evident in his voice as he at the same time huffed. "Did you come 'ere to Amérique for school, or to terrorise Americans?"

"Why, the former of course. The latter is just a generous bonus."

 


End file.
